Better With You (Better Love 2)

But as the contest moves forward, I can’t seem to ignore the man next to me. When we introduce ourselves, it’s a punch to the gut hearing Alex state that his name is actually Riggs Stanton. When we present our cookies, I feel completely deceived at how professionally he describes his recipe and baking process. He made palets de dame aux raisons. A French cookie made with rum-soaked raisons, and I fume when I remember that Suzette Callier, a judge and the owner of Bakery On Main, is originally from France. Riggs sounds knowledgeable, experienced, like a real baker. Not like the boy who needed help baking funfetti cupcakes from a boxed mix. My eyes keep flitting back to his girlfriend, and the adoring look on her face just hammers home how shitty I feel. She’s in love with him, and I’m a total idiot.

By the time the judges are finished, everything else in the room is a low buzz, and all I can hear are Alex—no, Riggs—all I can hear are Riggs’ shallow breaths and jerky movements. When they announce the winner as Riggs Stanton, I’m shocked. I’m numb.

For about thirty seconds, I feel absolutely nothing.

And then I’m hit with a wave of emotions so strong, I sway on my feet.

Betrayal. Hatred. Despair. Guilt.

I’m seeing red. I want to scream. On the inside, I’m a mess.

I keep my face neutral, fight to keep my breathing steady, but all I can see is the date on the calendar. All I can think of is the deadline I won’t reach, and the promise I’m going to have to break.

I let my guard down. I let someone in. And in doing so, I let him down. The only person worthy of everything good, and I’ve let him down. Again.

Tears burn the backs of my eyelids, welling up and threatening to spill, but I won’t let them fall. I’ve had years of practice turning my outside to stone.

The man beside me shifts, and I can feel his gaze on me. His pleading gaze with his dark, chocolate brown eyes. I see his hands moving in my peripheral, his big fingers fidget, and despite his size, the movement is delicate. I know how those hands feel on my skin. I know how soft his touch can be.

I try to fight it, the way my heart clenches and aches. I try to focus on my anger, on the betrayal. I try to keep my sadness for the boy I’ve let down.

But deep down, I know the truth.

Underneath the fury, buried under the newfound hatred, is loss.

Loss and longing.

Mourning for the man beside me, the man I thought I knew. The man who is not at all who he led me to believe he was.